


What Dreams May Come

by isabeau



Category: Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Kinda old fic (pre-2005), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-01
Updated: 2005-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darien dreams; Hobbes is predator and prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

"Fawksie." Hobbes' voice was a soft, drawling sing-song. "Haven't you learned anything, my friend, haven't I taught you anything? Keep your door locked, triple-locked, that way nothin' can get in. Nothin', not me, not the beast outside," and he did a passable imitation of a feral growl.

Fawkes grunted. It was too early for this -- too late? -- whatever -- he just wanted to sleep. "Go 'way, Hobbes," he mumbled into the pillow, raising one hand to flap vaguely in the direction of his partner's voice. "Come back'n'a mornin'."

"Nuh-uh." The mattress sank, tilted briefly, and then Hobbes' weight was on Darien, flipping him over and pinning him down. Darien fought briefly, but Hobbes had the advantage of surprise and leverage. Firm hands on Darien's wrists, legs pinning Darien's, and a slick heat invading Darien's mouth.

Darien twisted his head away, breaking the kiss. "Hob-- Bobby-- what the _fuck_ ," he managed, before he was caught again, trapped by an insistent mouth and a hand twining in his hair and holding his head painfully still.

He realized muddily that if Hobbes had a hand on his head, both his wrists couldn't be held down, but the pressure was still there. Darien twisted one hand and groped, fingers finally brushing against a taut bond. Leather, it felt like. Leather...if he could quicksilver it, he could snap it, free his hands--

\--but nothing happened, the quicksilver wasn't coming, and Bobby's other hand was at his crotch, hot and solid through the sweats he wore. "Fuck," Darien gasped, arching up into the insistent pressure. Damn, but it felt good. Hobbes was kneading now, molding an erection beneath his fingers.

"You want this, Fawksie baby," Hobbes crooned, working his whole body behind each squeeze and push, squeeze and push. "You want this, don't you, my sweet whore, come for me, obey me..."

"Fuck," Darien said again. His body was eager, straining, wanting more, wanting to obey, wanting the sweet fire to never stop. No. Not like this. "Bobby, please," he begged, "wait." This was wrong, this was so fucking wrong, but he couldn't stop, couldn't hold back. He felt himself shatter, sobbing. Hobbes had an odd half-smile on his face. "There now, Fawksie, my pet, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Tenderly, he reached up with a slick hand, painting Darien's face and lips with his own come. "You're mine now, all mine, always mine..."

Darien licked his lips, tasting the salt of sweat and semen; and then reality slipped away and he woke -- shaking, heart pounding, alone. His sheets were drenched in sweat and come, and with a curse he stumbled to his feet and began stripping the bed.

* * *

"Morning, Fawkes," Hobbes said cheerfully around a mouthful of glazed donut, giving Darien a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Jesus!" Fawkes all but teleported to the other side of the room, staring at Hobbes with wild eyes.

"What? _What_?" Hobbes glanced from Fawkes to Eberts, who was watching them both in silent bemusement, and back. No explanation seemed forthcoming, and Fawkes was still staring at him like he'd grown a second head or some shit like that. Hobbes shrugged. "Tag, you're it?" he hazarded.

Fawkes blinked and shook himself, as if coming awake out of a dream. "Sorry," he said a bit curtly. "Bad night."

"Uh-huh." The ex-thief's dark eyes were still troubled, but Hobbes let it pass. Well, mostly. "Forget to leave your nightlight on?"

"Very funny."

"Well, I thought it was."

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause you've got the sense of humor of a bed-wetting second grader."

Back to normal. Hobbes grinned. "Ooh, you wound me. I _passed_ second grade."

"But not third?"

"I had better things to do with my time."

"If you two are quite done," Eberts interrupted, "we've got an _assignment_ for you." He sounded exasperated. Fawkes snickered.

"Ooh, an _assignment_. I can hardly wait."

"Shut up," Eberts said.

"Whaddya think it is, Fawkes?" Hobbes stage-whispered. "A stolen piece of valuable government property?"

"Yeah, probably the Official lost his ballpoint pen or somethin'?"

"Maybe the noble little spermies ran away again."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say; Eberts gave them a sullen glare. "What?" Hobbes said, affecting wide-eyed innocence. "Geez, get a sense of humor..."

"I _have_ a sense of humor," Eberts said stiffly. "It's just...well..." He grimaced, opened the Official's door, and ushered them inside.

* * *

"You want us to _what_?" Darien yelped, when the Official had explained their latest task. "No fucking way, I am _not_ , no, fuck, don't even fucking _ask_ me what I think you're going to."

It was an unusual burst of temper. Hobbes raised an eyebrow. The Official smiled grimly. "Calm down, Fawkes."

Darien vibrated with nervous anger. "I am _not_ going to be bait, I don't care what you do to me, I am not going anywhere _near_ that sick fuck."

"You won't."

"Didn't you hear me, I said I am _not_ \-- uh -- what?" His energy seemed to derail.

"You won't," the Official said quietly. "Your job isn't bait, Fawkes, it's...evidence gathering."

"You're our video camera, if you will," Eberts added. "Except, well, you won't be using a video camera."

"You'll be using this." The Official tossed something to Darien, who caught it reflexively.

"A...disposable camera?"

"Say cheese," Eberts deadpanned.

"So what's the bait?"

Eberts cleared his throat and looked at Hobbes. The Official looked at Hobbes. Darien, catching on, looked at Hobbes with amusement. Hobbes, who had been watching the proceedings with amusement and a large cup of coffee, froze. "Oh, no. No no no no no..."

"You're his type," the Official said dryly.

"No."

"Darien will be there the whole time," Eberts added.

"No."

"Things won't get very far."

"No."

"All we need to do is to string him along long enough that our video camera," with a nod to Darien, "catches him in the act, so to speak."

"No."

"There won't be a problem."

"No."

"Yes," the Official said, in a tone of voice that said 'this is _final_ ', and Hobbes scowled.

"You heard the man," Fawkes said almost cheerfully. "There won't be a problem."

"There _will_ be a problem. There's always a problem. You know that."

"Hey, what can I say? You're his type."

"The man's a serial _rapist_."

"Yeah, and he's good enough that the Feds haven't managed to catch him." Which was, the Official had explained, where Darien came in: whoever this guy was, he had all his 'clients' searched thoroughly for bugs or tracking devices. He wouldn't, however, be able to check for invisible men. The theory was, Hobbes would act as bait, Darien would follow with a camera, and they would get evidence and get the hell out. As theories went, it was good. As assignments went, Hobbes hated it.

"C'mon, Hobbes," Fawkes pleaded. "We're better than the Feds, right? We can catch this guy without even a scratch to show for it. There won't be any problems. Hey, I'm going to be watching your back the entire time -- what are partners for, right?"

* * *

He'd locked the door, he was sure of it, but Hobbes got in anyway, somehow, and before Fawkes could say 'boo', Hobbes was pinning him to the bed, face-down this time. "Wake-up time, Fawksie," he whispered harshly into Darien's ear. "I'm watching your back, my friend, isn't that what partners are for?"

"Ghk," Darien choked, half-smothering in the pillow.

"I'm here for you, my pet, don't you worry." Hobbes was crooning again, and one hand was running down Fawkes' back, cupping his asscheeks, sliding between to run along the crack. "Oh, you're so sweet, so tight, so _ready_ , you love this, my pet, don't you, my slut, my Fawskie." Fingers slipped deeper. Darien tensed against the invasion, tried to buck Hobbes off, but the other man didn't even shift. "You want me, don't you? Beg me, say it, say the words, you know you want to, you know you can..."

"No," Darien said defiantly, but Hobbes just laughed and forced Darien's ass apart. Something large and hot, too _fucking_ large, nudged inside, squeezed into the unyielding muscle with a rush of blinding pain. Darien found himself sobbing roughly. Hobbes seemed to ignore the tears. "There, there, my pet, you like that, don't you, you want that, you want me."

Thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw, and Darien felt like he was about to explode, that he would split down the middle and crack like an egg. Everything hurt, his ass was too raw, it had been too long for him to do this without preparation, without lube, without _wanting_ it. Thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw, and Hobbes was moaning in rhythm. Strong hands gripped Darien's hips and then groped around, finding an erection Darien didn't even know he had. His penis felt raw too, and Hobbes' enthusiastic pumping just added to the fire, added to the tears that burned behind his eyes.

After far too long, it was over -- Hobbes thrust one last time and pumped seed inside Darien, filling him to overflowing, and then set about bringing Darien to climax, squeezing so hard that when Darien finally came, it was more pain than pleasure. Darien sobbed, couldn't stop sobbing. Hobbes kissed him tenderly. "There, my pet, see? I love you, I will watch you, and you trust me, don't you, Fawksie?"

When Darien woke, sobbing in the darkness of his apartment, he stumbled to the shower and scrubbed himself thoroughly before dragging his comforter onto the floor and curling up there.

* * *

The newspaper ad, word-for-word the same as previous newspaper ads, asked for 'non-traditional male photo models'. The victims of their newest target had each responded to these ads, so Hobbes' first task was to set up an appointment.

The listed phone number was just an anonymous answering service; Hobbes left a stammering message and his home phone number, and spent several hours looking up the advertised photo agency. Unsurprisingly, nothing was listed.

The phone remained silent.

Hobbes stayed on the computer, idly playing solitaire, losing more than he won. "Come on, he muttered, "call me back."

The phone remained silent.

"Maybe it's a dud advertisement," he wondered aloud. It's not like they could suspect a trap -- he'd left a fake name, and some of the Fed attempts had been apparently fairly blatant.

It wasn't until late that night, in the middle of a Leno rerun that still made him laugh even though the jokes weren't all that funny, that the phone rang, and an anonymous somebody gave him curt instructions: be at this place at this time tomorrow, wearing loose clothes, no bugs, no wires, no microphones, no cameras, no friends of any sort.

As per his assignment, he would obey all but the last one. Darien would be there with him, invisible and watching.

Tomorrow. Damn. Not like he was going to get any sleep. He started to dial Darien's number, and then, halfway through, hung up the receiver. Darien probably didn't want to be disturbed.

* * *

Darien had bought and installed another lock for his door, this one a deadbolt, securely fastened in place. He slid it home, comforted by the thick _snack_ of the bolt latching in place. "There," he said, and turned around to find Hobbes standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, smiling.

"What-- how did you--" Darien spluttered to a stop.

"I'm your friend," Hobbes said cryptically. "I've got ways."

"Get the fuck out, Hobbes."

"No."

"Look, I'm tired of your -- games or whatever. I just want to sleep."

Hobbes moved silently, standing in front of Darien before any movement had registered. "You will obey me, Fawksie," he said, soft and dangerous.

"Fuck off," Darien said sullenly, and walked past.

A sharp, sudden blow to the back of one knee sent him sprawling to the floor, knee throbbing, hands stinging from the impact. Immediately, Hobbes was in front of him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and yanking him up to a full kneeling position. "You will _obey_ me."

Hobbes was naked from the waist down, which put his erection, a throbbing, sullen red, at about eye level to Fawkes. Hobbes' hands were still painfully twisting Darien's hair. Darien tried to resist, but Hobbes was stronger, far too strong for Darien to fight. "Come on, Fawksie, my pet, be a good boy."

Darien's head was brought up to the tip of Hobbes' gleaming cock -- he kept his lips firmly shut, but somehow Hobbes got his mouth open again and was forcing his thick erection inside. "Suck," he ordered.

Darien bit down -- not hard, just a warning that he wasn't going to comply. He expected Hobbes to jerk back, cursing, maybe smack his head for the insolence, maybe get the picture and leave him alone. He didn't expect a short pulse of hot, bitter liquid hitting the back of his throat. "That was a warning," Hobbes growled over Darien's coughing. "I had a lot of coffee tonight."

Darien wanted to bite down harder, to bite right through, to punish Hobbes for what he was doing, but his own groin twitched painfully at the thought. He found himself sucking instead; found Hobbes still guiding his head, forward and back, fucking his mouth thoroughly.

He'd never quite learned the art of deep-throating -- but then again, he'd never really wanted to try. He still didn't. Hobbes' fierce thrusts were making him tense up, and each plunge inward choked him a little more. Darien kept his head as still as possible, willing it to be over soon.

"There, that's it, my little whore, my darling slut, that's it, harder, ohhh..." Hobbes, as always, kept up a running commentary as he took his own pleasure. Finally, he was coming. Darien felt the cock twitch as a warning, felt Hobbes' fingers tighten in his hair; then the liquid was hitting his throat in hard streams, too fast to swallow, too fast even to choke on. When Hobbes was done, Darien just let the limp cock slide out of his mouth, coughing and gagging and gasping for air.

"You're so good for me," Hobbes said, wiping his cock dry against Darien's hair.

Darien awoke with a strangled gasp. His mouth was dry, not dribbling with Hobbes' semen, but he still felt choked. And, to his fury, he was sporting a huge erection, left from the dream. "Fuck," he muttered, and jacked off to a chorus of mumbled fucks. Seconds after he came, splattering seed all over himself and his bed, his stomach lurched. He didn't have time even to stand, let alone dive for the bathroom, before his dinner came up to join his drying come.

And then it was over, and his bed needed changing for the third time in as many days. Darien stood shakily and wiped his mouth. "Fuck," he murmured again. What was _wrong_ with him?

* * *

Hobbes knocked nervously at the assigned address, feeling like an idiot. "You there, Dare?" he muttered under his breath.

"Right beside you." A cold touch to his arm reassured him.

He knocked again, and someone answered. The someone was a standard nobody, Agent Smith from the Matrix, bland and unremarkable and too polite. "Billy Hobb?" he asked. The smooth voice was the same one that had called Hobbes earlier.

"Uh, yeah, that's me, Billy Hobb." Hobbes smiled nervously. "Um, is this the right place?"

"Yes." Agent Smith held the door open. Hobbes noticed that the door stayed open a little longer than it should have; the other man didn't seem to. "Strip," the man commanded, when the door was closed.

"What?"

The man smiled. "This is a natural photo shoot, Mr. Hobb. No clothes."

"But..." Play dumb, Hobbes. Remember, you don't know anything, aren't expecting anything. "There aren't any cameras."

"Oh, _this_ isn't where the shoot will be. This is just a staging area. We need to make sure that you're camera-ready."

In his ear, so quietly that he could barely hear it, Darien whispered: "Yeah, everything's camera-ready, all right..."

Hobbes smiled and stripped. He felt slightly self-conscious, naked in a bare room. Agent Smith looked at him with a casual disinterest; no doubt his partner was carefully looking away. That or ogling, he wasn't quite sure.

As Hobbes expected, there was a barely-disguised body cavity search; and then Agent Smith nodded. "You're clean," he said.

"Good." Hobbes faked enthusiasm, but didn't have to fake the hint of nervousness. "When do I start?"

"Now." Something cold hissed against Hobbes' neck, and everything went suddenly dark.

* * *

Fawkes flinched as his partner collapsed. It made sense, drugging the victims so they wouldn't know where they were taken. Still hurt, though, seeing Hobbes vulnerable like that.

He also felt a strange, dark glee, left over from the night's dreams. They were dreams, he was sure, not reality -- Hobbes wouldn't do that -- would he? Fuck. Cursing silently to himself, he followed as Hobbes was carried, limp and naked, to a waiting car in the building's underground garage. Darien slipped unnoticed into the other side of the car, as the man who had carried Hobbes out got in the driver's seat.

They were taken on a winding route through the city, finally stopping in the outskirts in a fairly nice-looking neighborhood. White picket fences and manicured lawns and a serial rapist. Great. Fawkes' hand tightened on the disposable camera.

The car stopped in a dark garage, and Hobbes, still unconscious, was dragged out and taken into the house. Fawkes paused long enough to shake off the quicksilver and look at his tattoo. It was over half red -- great. The Keeper was going to kill him. Scowling, he quicksilvered again and resumed the chase.

The house was large, almost mansionlike, with what looked like a thousand rooms leading off the main foyer. Half of them looked unused; most of the others had their doors open, and it was obvious that no one was inside. Darien eenie-meenied his way through the rest of the doors, peering inside random ones until he came to the one he wanted.

By the time he got there, things had started. Hobbes -- awake now, but looking disoriented and scared -- was trussed up sharply, suspended face-up with his ankles bound over his head. It was a very vulnerable position. There was one other person in the room -- not the one who'd taken Hobbes in; Fawkes had already decided he was a lackey, not the main target -- and he was stroking Hobbes' legs. "I'm going to take care of you, all right?"

Hobbes gave him a look of confusion. "Fuck off," he said thickly.

The man, a tall blonde gorilla wearing a nicely-fitting expensive suit, smiled genially. "As you wish," he said, bowing mockingly.

Fawkes watched with a sick interest. He knew what was going to happen even before it happened -- the gorilla would strip swiftly, already hard from the sight of a bound victim, and thrust inside Hobbes' exposed ass. Hobbes would tense in pain and shock, and that would only make the rapist harder, more excited. Fawkes could almost see it happen, and he knew that he needed to act, now, before anything happened. All he needed to do was catch this guy, full-face with his pants down -- literally -- and they could leave, the job would be done, nothing would happen.

He didn't move.

A part of him was screaming -- what the _fuck_ is wrong with you, this is your job, this is your _partner_ , get the fuck out there and save him, he trusts you --

\-- and part of him was flashing back to the dreams, to the reality, whichever it was -- he didn't have a clue how much of what he remembered was real, how much was imagined, but all he could see was Hobbes pinning him down, Hobbes fucking him mercilessly, Hobbes coming in his mouth while he choked, Hobbes...

Hobbes taking his pleasure at the sacrifice of Darien.

And now this gorilla, this fucked rapist, was taking Hobbes' pleasure, and Darien couldn't move. He could just watch -- see the forced entry, distorted by the strange silvered vision that quicksilver gave him -- and listen to Hobbes' gurgled scream.

It was the scream that jolted him out of his paralysis. Moving quickly, Darien pulled out the disposable camera, de-quicksilvered it, and aimed it. "Say cheese," he said. The rapist paused, frozen, eyes wide, face pointed perfectly at the camera. The flash went off, and Darien almost immediately shoved the camera into his pocket, rendering it invisible again.

The gorilla was getting his wits back, and Darien knew that he would be dangerous in a fight. Time to take the fight _out_ of him. A swift punch to the jaw sent the man stumbling; a knee to the conveniently exposed groin and a kick just below the kneecap sent him down. Darien pounced immediately, not caring that the quicksilver had shattered and was falling off him. All that mattered was getting this fucker out of commission. Darien punched the guy's jaw again and again. His throat hurt, and he realized he was screaming "Don't touch my partner, stay the fuck away from my partner" over and over again.

Finally, he realized that the rapist wasn't fighting back -- he was unconscious, and Hobbes, behind him, was shouting his name, sounding almost panicked. "Fawkes!"

"Yeah." Feeling suddenly tired, Fawkes stood up and started cutting the ropes holding Hobbes prisoner. "How you doing there, Hobbes?"

"I'll live." Hobbes winced as he was freed. "Shit. What took so long?"

"Security systems," Darien lied.

"You're _invisible_ ," Hobbes said, "and where are my clothes?"

Darien glanced around, finally spying a neat pile with a familiar-looking shirt folded on top. "Right here, and it was a heat-based system, thank you very much. With quicksilver, I'm colder than the surrounding air. It would've detected me, sounded the alarm. I couldn't risk that."

"Yeah, well..." Hobbes dressed and winced. "I wish you could've gotten here sooner."

"Me too," Darien said softly. "But at least we've got him," with a nod at their unconscious prisoner, "and a nice photo as evidence."

"Yeah." Hobbes gave a slow nod. "Good work."

* * *

Darien went to bed with a gun under his pillow, but he didn't use it. When Hobbes appeared, he sat up slowly. "I've been expecting you," he said quietly.

"I know." Hobbes gave a predatory smile. "I'm going to give you what you deserve, my friend. You're ready for me, my pet, aren't you?"

Dream, reality, it didn't matter. Either way, he was fucked.

Darien closed his eyes. "Yeah. Give me what you've got. I'm ready."  



End file.
